Several years ago, I tried to read Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood. It’s the granddaddy of the New Journalism/ficitionalize non-fiction killer book. I hated it.
Capote obviously had a crush on one of the killers. Maybe not a sexual crush but he was fascinated. The victims were virtually ignored. It’s understandable in a movie where you have ninety minutes to scare people but in a novel you can at least make the dead human. So half way through, I stopped reading that book. I rarely read many murder-y books.
But I did listen to the audiobook of The Spider and the Fly by Claudia Rowe. There was no reason except it was recommended to me and I was tired of podcasts and I needed something I could drop in and out of.
Rowe’s book hooked me. The woman can write. She’s a bit flowery by today’s standards but today’s standards are flat as drywall. Read her slowly and, if not listening to the audio book, maybe read some of the passages aloud. They’re nice, they’re poetic.
Rowe does not ignore the victims of the serial killer. You know the names. You know their mothers and how they ended up where they did. You learn about their rust belt blue collar town and how it influenced them and nudged them into the hands of their killer. Yet, she doesn’t excuse them either. The victims were prostitutes. Rowe knows that there are some people that can’t be helped, no matter what their mother or sister or father does. No matter how many times they are arrested or what the kindly cop or social worker does. Rowe knows this because she sees the same instincts in herself. She writes about this without turning the book into a confessional, she touches on her own problems without drawing the reader’s attention away from the true victims, the eight women who were strangled by Kendall Francois.
As far as Francois is concerned, she treats him as human but, unlike Capote, she never forgets what he is. She retraces his life from childhood, investigating and describing his abusive childhood but noting that other children had it just as bad and never turn to beating and killing hookers. She looks for answers with the cops who knew him, with teachers, friends and family members. But like all serial killers, there are no answers.
After reading The Dinner, Herman disappointed me with The Ditch. I’m glad I decided to carry on with him and read Dear. Mr. M.
I like Koch’s misanthropic authorial voice. Especially since much of it is aimed at his own country of the Netherlands. It’s not that I have any animus toward that country but when so many in this country want to praise the Benelux and Nordic countries for this Democratic Socialism, it’s great to hear that they have problems too from some of their own.
But that’s no reason to read this book, just an extra feature.
One reason to read it is the best use of the second person voice I’ve ever read. In fact, it’s the only good use of the second person voice I’ve ever read in a novel format. It’s not the entire novel – maybe 30%. It’s done well and is not a gimmick. It gives a haunting insight to one of the main characters.
Koch’s use of the second person dovetails in with another reason to read Dr. Mr. M. While it’s a mystery, the writing (or maybe it’s the translation) is of a literary quality. You don’t have to check your brain at the title page to enjoy Herman’s books. I don’t enjoy most thrillers or mysteries for this reason. There’s a certain dumbing down that occurs for books to hit the shelves of Costco or Wal-mast or the top of the Amazon algorithm. Not with Herman’s books. You got to bring a bit of your brain to the party if you want to enjoy them.
Finally, as with The Dinner, his plotting and the final revelation was a surprise and satisfying. Such a difference from The Ditch…I hated the ending so much!
After fan-girling over Herman Koch’s The Dinner, I immediately downloaded another of his novels. I didn’t look at reviews, I just rouletted the five that he has that are in English and landed on (or in) The Ditch.
It wasn’t a lucky spin of the wheel if you like plot to resolve with clarity.
If, however, you like wry insight and a jaundiced, contrarian outlook that pokes holes into contemporary culture and some politically correct sacraments, you’ll enjoy this book. The lead character, the sixty-year old mayor of Amsterdam, suspects his wife is having an affair. There’s no proof really, just a husband’s suspicion about the way his wife laughs at another man’s joke.
So he begins to keep an eye on her. We know she’s a foreigner – not Dutch. She’s unaccustomed to their cold, passionless ways. Is she Muslim? Eastern European? Greek? We don’t know, he never tells us. She comes from an earthier part of the world, he says, where things like marriage and adultery are taken more serious that in the progressive Netherlands.
On top of this, he has to deal with an alderman who wants to scar the city with windmills, and a father who wants to euthanize himself and, oh, a physicist best friend who is going to do an experiment that may end the world.
And it all just peters out at the end of the book without an clear resolution.
But alone the way, there are these great bon mots and astute observations that made my grumpy heart smile. Are they worth the trip? I’ll have to say, grudgingly, yes.
When you write without a genre, as I do, it can be a bit lonely.
You don’t have anyone to look up to or over to. There are no similar people who are doing what you’re doing. I can’t say I write action or romance. I can’t say I do police procedurals or spy thrillers.
To be honest, doing book after book like that would bore me. Seeing a future of one character in one genre would make me close my computer and open a bottle and turn on a TV.
So it’s nice to find someone else doing it. Like Herman Koch.
I read The Dinner which is about two couples having dinner…a whole novel about two couples having dinner. Seriously. There are flashbacks. There are trips to the bathroom and side conversations but that’s the structure.
Yet it’s more compelling than many of the cop dramas that I’ve read which starts out with a gruesome killing followed by us learning about the flawed cop who much overcome…yawn.
So when I finished the dinner, I picked up The Ditch. I’m 25% of the way through and…no genre.
I’m still fan boying Gillian Flynn and since I’ve read all she’s published I am reading books she has recommended. I found this link of her recommendations and latched onto the novel The War of the Roses by Warren Adler.
I’m about half way through it. The most noticeable thing so far is how much the style of writing has changed since the 1970s. It’s a bit more formal, a bit more complex, definitely more adult but also more chaste. It was a strange time.
I’ll admit that I wouldn’t have watched this if it weren’t for my wife. But then I would have missed a lesson in plotting. Whatever you want to say about the show, you can’t say that the plot isn’t complex.
The first episode set up in one hour so many narrative threads that when I looked back at it I was amazed by what they had done. Then as the show followed those threads they didn’t pull any cheats or deus ex machinas. As a guy who has written fairly straight stories and am now writing a more complex plot, I was blown away and had to applaud the writers.
As a writer who writes about unpleasant people, I’m glad I found Gillian Flynn.
I knew nothing about her really, expect that she was popular and my natural snootiness made me think she would be an easy read after a time when I had worn myself out on higher level stuff. Of course, I was wrong.
She writes challenging, damaged but realistic characters in highly dramatic but somewhat realistic situations but they act realistically. Don’t believe me? I guess you grew up in a healthy family. Congrats.
As a writer, what I’ve from her is to loosen up. I’m an uptight guy and that has always shown in my writing. I like to think of it as Hemingway-esque but I’ve learned over the last few years it’s just a tightness. Flynn was able to show a modern, 21st century was of loosening up to open up the characters to the reader, to let in the light and the color of them to illuminate them. I learned a lot.
So I needed something to read, something easy. Plus I’m a David Fincher fan. Who isn’t? So I decided to read Gone Girl and released Flynn can write. I knew nothing about her. I figure she was one of those pop corn book writers. One of those writers who can crank out mysteries once a year. Nope. She only has three and the depth of character she’s creating with Gone Girl within 15% of this book impressed me (i.e. makes me jealous).
So I downloaded her book Sharp Objects to listen to on my walks…what I hope are my walks. I had my wife take some pictures of me for my Amazon and Facebook pages….and I need to walk…and eat less. So Gillian Flynn will help me through that I hope also.
I’ve recently given up on Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying and Henry James’ A Turn of the Screw. Look, there are only so many hours in a day. And the older you get, the more valuable those hours become to you.
What am I reading now? Well, the days have been getting darker, both literally and figurately so I needed lighter fair. So I’m reading I, the Jury by Mickey Spillane because I was thinking of writing another of my Jake Gibb stories and I’m also reading The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe because I never have.